


All Five

by skysedge



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble, Gen, M/M, Missing Scene, Near Death, Spoilers for wtmsb2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 01:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14033631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skysedge/pseuds/skysedge
Summary: Lucifer examines each of his senses as they cease to function one after another.





	All Five

The last thing he feels with any certainty is the cold of the stone floor beneath his fingers and hot blood spilling from the wound in his side as he drags himself onward. The sensation fades and he can't be sure if he's still moving inch by agonising inch or if he's lost his strength completely. He seems to float, suspended, in his own private universe of thought, the pain dwindling to nothing.

 _One_ , he thinks with utmost clarity.

His nerves have ceased to function. Touch is a thing of the past.

His attacker has followed him with lazy footsteps; he can hear them approach, the sound echoing through the vast crumbling chamber, cutting through the hoarse reverberations of his own ragged wheezing. Beelzebub is in no hurry to end this. Lucifer waits, his usually controlled thought processes drifting along unfamiliar currents, pulsing with the ebb and flow of a stranger tide.

He thinks of the way metal warms when it's held for a time. The textures of his clothes, mingled soft and firm. The smooth surface of porcelain. All things he will never experience again. In this certainty he finds himself imagining what it would have felt like to run his fingers through the soft brown waves of Sandalphon's hair if he had ever succumbed to his more whimsical urges. Not that it matters now.

Beelzebub's feet appear in his field of vision. Four wings are dropped on the floor in front of him, bloodied and losing feathers. He gives in to the unusual impulse to smile because _this_ does matter, this means that he's baited the beast away from the cocoon in the great chamber. His lungs draw in a breath that may have been intended for a laugh but instead he's coughing, blood bubbling from between his lips. He catches a glimpse of a second pair of feet sauntering towards him before coloured lights swarm across everything followed by complete darkness.

 _Two_.

He's experiencing blindness for the first time. Even after all these years alive there are so many things he hasn't experienced, too bound by duty to have the luxury. He doesn't feel bitterness. Regret isn't something he can fully grasp. But again his thoughts are fanciful as his life force drains away and he examines their motion as he has observed everything else for thousands of years.

He pictures clouds drifting across as azure sky. The green of new leaves in the spring. The crimson anger of flames. The open smiles only one person had ever blessed him with. The same lips twisted with resentment. Sandalphon has always been as expressive as a skydweller, fascinating to observe. He realises in retrospect that vision is something he could have enjoyed more. 

He thinks that if his position was reversed with his most troubled, most precious, creation then Sandalphon would be weeping. Even now, at the end of it all, Lucifer finds his own emotions difficult to grasp. Perhaps if he had been given the time to wait, to let nature take its course without his guidance,he would have been able to learn how to feel anything as passionately as Sandalphon does. Perhaps the voices of the many would have fallen silent in favour of the one. Perhaps...

Voices. They drag him back to the present. The two intruders are talking; he can hear them as if they are underwater and does not yet care to process their words. He's tired, so tired, feels heavier than he ever has before. The rich copper of blood mingles with dry dust on his tongue, the overpowering stench of both flooding into his skull with each drag of air into his lungs. Without his other senses it's a dizzying combination and he reels at the strength of it.

He would have chosen almost anything else to taste and smell last. The bitter smokiness of fresh coffee. The crisp freshness of the open skies. Or maybe the tastes he's only imagined in moments of weakness he's chastised himself for, wondering if a person would taste the same as their scent if only he were to press his lips to the back of a hand. As humans would. As lovers would. Both things too base for him to understand and yet, and yet...

When the imagined sensation fades nothing replaces it. He can hear whispered voices and his own breath whistling through his teeth but nothing else.

_Three. Four._

Lucifer is far from foolish. He can recognise his emotions for what they are. Regret for missed opportunities. Sorrow for a future taken. Frustration at his own failure, his inability to complete his final task. There's something else too.

He hears the hiss of a blade being drawn, the crackle of magic in the air, someone speaking in a tone of finality.

 _Yearning_. He understands the meaning of it now, now when it's too late, when the object of his longing is close enough to still leave his heart aching. If Sandalphon had felt this way for thousands of years in captivity then perhaps he's truly the stronger of them both. For all his crimes, all his mistakes, he's still...

_"I just want to be useful to you..."_

He hears the blade tear into his skin and crack the bone of his spine and then everything is gone. Five. An entity without a physical presence. He doesn't have forever. He must use what time he has wisely, the skies still need guidance whatever he might want for himself.

The last thing he knows with any certainty is that he's not ready to die.

**Author's Note:**

> I took a bit of liberty with the canon but nothing too drastic, just a personal decision on why his remains were found where they were.


End file.
